


Getting Clean

by Trammel



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes's Plums, Bucky's hair, M/M, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Steve is not actually in the story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 06:56:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10238453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trammel/pseuds/Trammel
Summary: He'd showered, repeatedly, but he hadn't yet washed the hair. He noticed in this city, another thing he remembered, nobody went around in sweats or casual clothes really. Even their casual clothes were top of the line. They were all elegant, even when they were casual.He would have to clean up more to fit in. He would have to wash the hair.





	

**Author's Note:**

> wow, my first Bucky fic! There are no descriptions of Bucky's time as the Asset here, nothing that should be triggering. Basically Bucky eats and takes a shower.

He was managing to take care of the body - his body - eating solid food now and sleeping hours at a time, even though he was still moving, always moving.

He had some money, and managed to find a somewhat run-down hotel room in this city. They asked for an ID, but some extra cash had solved that problem.

Now he was out at the corner market, picking up some food to eat in the room. It wasn't good to stay on the street too long.

He recognized the language here. He spoke it even, without thinking.

" _Scusi, quanto costanto le prugne?"_ He asked the girl at the cash register. The price was acceptable, so he picked up a few plums, and some bread and ham for a sandwich. He remembered they were really big on ham here. He also grabbed some shower gel - he wasn't staying in the kind of place that would offer free toiletries.

Walking back to the hotel, his head down but his eyes watching everything, he heard the voices all around him. That was another thing about this country, the natives _never_ stopped talking.

That language, this place was bringing back some memories - from _before._ Some were bad, very bad. Memories he was not going to investigate right now.

But some were good.

_"I thought you were dead."_

_"I thought you were smaller."_

Those blue eyes looking at him. At _him._ With such relief on that face.

It wouldn't do to dwell on these memories either. He had to stay vigilant. Stay alive. Stay ahead of everyone that was looking for him.

Back in the hotel room he sat on the bed and made himself a little picnic. He had to chew slowly, but not focus too much on the food. Eating was still a strange sensation. The Asset had been fed through tubes.

But that wasn't - _he wasn't_ the Asset anymore.

He'd showered, repeatedly, but he hadn't yet washed the hair. He noticed in this city, another thing he remembered, nobody went around in sweats or casual clothes really. Even their casual clothes were top of the line. They were all elegant, even when they were casual.

He would have to clean up more to fit in. He would have to wash the hair.

Wash _his_ hair.

When he finished eating he stripped down and folded his clothes neatly on the bed. He removed the glove he used to hide his metal hand, then went into the little bathroom. There was a shower without a curtain, next to the toilet, with a drain in the middle of the floor. A couple of shabby towels.

He put the water as hot as it would go, and forced himself under it. It wasn't too bad. He picked up the plastic bottle and flipped open the cap, bringing it up to his nose.

It was spicy, had ginger or something in it. It didn't bring back any memories, bad or good.

Did he like it, he wondered? He didn't know.

_Would Steve have liked it?_ If he smelled of ginger and musk, would Steve-

Thinking about that wasn't going to get him anywhere. He poured some shower gel on his hands and lathered up his body, then worked on his hair. It was still long. He couldn't think about bringing scissors or anything sharp near his face. He would keep it long for now.

He washed and rinsed his hair twice, running his hands through it to check that all the suds were gone. He turned off the water and picked up a towel, drying off, trying not to pay much attention as he dried off his left arm.

Finally, he went to the mirror, wiping the condensation that had accumulated in the tiny bathroom so he could see the face. His face. And his hair.

He ran his flesh hand through his hair, wet and clean. He remembered fingers in his hair. Not _their_ fingers. Fingers stroking gently through _Bucky's_ hair. Small and thin for a long time, and then larger, and stronger, but always gentle.

He wanted to feel that again.

_He_ wanted _._

He met the eyes in the mirror. He wasn't sure whose eyes they were. They weren't the soldier's anymore. But they also weren't really his. Whoever he was.

But he could try. It could be a good step. Another step forward.

He could try it out. Try saying it. Nobody was around to hear him. It was ok.

He looked into those eyes, that face, surrounded by long, clean hair, and spoke to that reflection.

"My - my name is Bucky."

 

**Author's Note:**

> "Quanto costano le prugne?" = How much are the plums ;)


End file.
